Disclaimer:
The X-men and their world belongs to Marvel/Fox. No profit or copyright infringement
is intended

NOTE:
This story is Movie-verse AU

Grand
Opening

This story
will be included in the Left Turn at Westchester storyline as an outtake,
referred to by the characters but not played out on the board.

"I have to apologize in advance." Warren said, city lights
sliding across those amazing cheekbones and shimmering on the raw silk of
his tie. He glanced at Logan, sitting next to him in the limo, and smiled
ruefully.

"Fer what?" Logan asked. The formal wear
- silk and wool and more silk - wasn't uncomfortable. Worthington had convinced
him to accept the gift of a hand tailored suit. Three months of being prodded
and poked by Warren's ancient and trusted tailor had resulted in a clothes
that fit like a glove. He pulled at the neckline - that was the only thing
he didn't like. It fit fine - but Logan wasn't used to wearing a tie. "I ain't
gonna strangle."

Warren's gaze flickered - down - and Logan
smiled. Now, there was the reason he'd let Warren dress him. He was planning
on some undressing in the very near future. God knows, Warren wore his suit
damn well and Logan was aching to his hands on all that virgin wool and Thai
silk.

"Not the clothes, Logan." Warren said as
the car slowed and pulled up next to a brightly lit building. A red banner
was draped over the marble front 'Imperial Exhibit, Grand Opening' and a red
carpet was roped off from the gawking New York crowd. The crowd waiting grew
noisier and when Warren's driver opened the door, the sound rushed in like
the sea. Warren's words barely carried over it. "For this gauntlet."

Logan climbed out behind Worthington to see
him already half buried in a dozen or more reporters, all yelling at once.
He trailed along behind, content for the moment to be ignored, and watched.

Warren's brilliant blue eyes sparkled in
the harsh lights of the camera crews, his pale hair shone like gold, and he
seemed to have a perfect instinct for the most photogenic moment. His smile
seemed completely genuine and it was obvious that the press just loved him.
Logan shook his head as Worthington worked the press, somehow managing to
catch and answer the dozens of questions being thrown at him, making every
sentence a sound bite. He even managed to sound and look like he was really
paying attention to each and every person around him.

The supposedly hard bitten reporters responded
in kind, practically melting under Warren's attention. Logan noted how they
avoided taking any photos that emphasized Warren Worthington's famous 'handicap'.
The bulge of Warren's hidden wings were noticeable and the Worthington family
had, years ago, revealed that their favorite - and only - son had a physical
'deformity'. Warren had absorbed that lesson far to well, in Logan's opinion.
Those wings were one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen and he had
a hard time imagining that even a wolf pack like the press would tear Warren
apart over them. But Warren refused to reveal them, went to great lengths
to hide them and nothing Logan or Scott or Jean could say would change his
mind.

As they breached the first rank of reporters
and Logan moved up behind Warren, a young man somehow managed to pry himself
out of the crowd and pounce - like a predator - on Worthington.

"So what's your statement on Spain, Mr. Worthington?"
He yelled, thrusting a small mike at him at the same time, obviously trying
to catch Warren off guard. The young reporter was startlingly scruffy and
had a slightly wilted Mohawk, of all things. His press badge was clearly displayed
however and the police didn't pull him away. "What about those mutant sweat
shops you own? Have you even bothered to look into it, Mr. Worthington? Or
is the quarterly profit report enough information for you? I noticed that
all the bought and paid for rank and file of the press didn't ask that."

Surprisingly, Warren's grin widened when
he saw the young man in front of him. He seemed genuinely glad to see the
obnoxious brat. Logan snorted when he saw the kid blush faintly. Another one
caught by the famous Worthington charm.

"Joseph, I was expecting you! I'm always
glad to hear your voice." Warren said lightly. "Spain? Well, I'm always careful
to take what I read in the papers with a grain of salt - we all should be,
don't you think?. I did travel to Spain last month - "

"On your private jet, of course." The reporter
broke in scornfully. "And on a corporate account. What about all those workers
making that private jet possible? What are they eating when you're nibbling
caviar?"

Warren met the young man's eyes intently.
"I'm very aware of the fact that the food on my table and all my privilege
depends on the people I employ. Without them - down to the newest and youngest
of my employees - I'm nothing. I would never permit sweatshop practices -
anywhere, in any of my companies. It's illegal and I follow the law - in every
nation."

The young reported was slightly taken aback
by Warren's brief moment of intensity, then he gathered himself. "So you are
preferentially hiring mutants, putting good Spanish workers out of jobs?"

Warren shook his head with a lopsided grin.
"As I said, Joseph, my companies follow the laws of the nations they have
a presence in. Spain has a quota on the number of mutants any one employer
can hire and my companies follow that law. My companies have always had a
policy of hiring the most qualified workers for the position, regardless of
disability. A - personal - issue with me."

Warren shifted slightly, the subtle guesture
highlighting the bulge under his well tailored suit. Clearly unprepared to
follow the line of questioning into Warren's personal life, the reporter fell
back and Warren moved along. They finally reached the refuge of the building
and Logan sighed as the noise level dropped off.

"Who was that brat?" Logan asked as they
handed their coats over to the coat clerk. Warren ran a hand along his hair,
making sure it was still neatly combed back and adjusted his formal jacket.
Logan tugged on his collar again. "Sounded like you knew him."

"Joseph?" Warren smiled briefly, scanning
the smaller, richly dressed crowd. "Yes, I do know him. He's been a thorn
in my side since he managed to get a post on the 'Socialist National'. Brilliant
mind, startling really. I've been trying to hire him for months. Won't have
anything to do with me, of course."

"Wadda ya want him for?"

Warren flashed him a brief glance, the intensity
of his gaze catching Logan like it always did. "I need a media machine, Logan.
And I need a good one. The American media is tied up in only ten companies
- I intend to be the eleventh."

They were briefly caught up in the crowd
of rich and famous. Logan was introduced, enduring the calculating gaze of
a dozen or more incredibly famous people wondering just why Warren had brought
him to the invitation only New York Museum of History's grand opening
of the permanent Imperial Exhibit. Warren eyes were sparkling with well hidden
amusement as his courteous introductions made it clear that Logan wasn't his
bodyguard. Logan could see how everyone went away wondering if he was a friend,
or a 'friend'. He overheard someone say 'but no, he's so ugly' or if
he was a co-worker or some wealthy hermit Warren had dug up to annoy everyone.
As they moved into the dining area, Warren picked up their earlier conversation
as if they'd never been interrupted.

"Hawk among doves." Logan muttered, catching
the edge of Warren's grin as he overheard him.

The dining tables were set up under an enormous
red banner with a gold embroidered Japanese mon. Logan knew it instantly -
the royal family - and for a moment, the modern smells of perfume, cleaning
chemicals, silk and wool and nervous sweat faded away. He smelled cold air
and the rustle of cotton, smelled the sea -

"Logan?" A hard hand on his arm startled
him and Logan jerked away, stumbling into an older woman wearing a stiff rustling
silk dress. Warren was staring at him, eyes dark with worry. "Are you alright?
You - seemed a little out of touch for a moment."

Warren tipped his head to the side curiously.
"That is what we're here for."

Logan grunted, wishing irritably that he
wasn't in the middle of a crowd of noisy New York elite, that he had time
and room to think but they were being seated, drinks offered, conversations
starting up and they had no time to themselves.

The dinner seemed to go on forever.

"I did warn you there'd be a price to pay."
Warren murmured in a moment of relative quiet. "These events are grueling."

"Got that right." Logan muttered.

Warren was on his fourth Bacardi cocktail
and it was a pattern Logan wasn't sure he should worry about or not. It wasn't
like Warren ever got drunk - as in falling down drunk - but he drank. Quite
a lot. Logan just didn't know enough about him to know if it was a problem
or not. Everyone around him tonight was drinking like fish.

He was pretty relieved when the dinner ended
and they were released into the museum itself to view the collection. There
was a tour, with several young and attractive Asian women to interpret the
work but evidently it wasn't a required event. Warren tipped his head to a
side gallery and Logan gladly followed him out.

The cool quiet after the crowed heat if the
dining room was a relief. The lights were dim and the silent, elegant clutter
of statues, display cases, paintings and mounted objects both intrigued Logan
and set off his paranoia. There were a lot of shadows around and a lot of
places to hide.

"All of these things were created in Japan
after the Perry expeditions." Warren said as they walked, his formal shoes
tapping softly and mostly covered by the heavy sound of Logan's polished cowboy
boots. He was willing to wear the formal monkey suit but nothing was going
to make him wear those thin Italian shoes. They were pretty on Warren but
that was as far as he was willing to go.

Logan grunted, caught up mostly in the eerie
familiar/unfamiliar sights around him. The color of those ceramics were familiar
but the setting - a cold museum - made them seem alien and out of place. He
couldn't smell anything either - aside from Warren and himself and the cleaners
they used in this place. It was easier of he didn't look at anything in particular
- just let stuff filter in through the corners of his eyes.

The cloisonné drew him, though.

Logan, clenched his hands behind his back
with a frustrated growl. He wanted to pick up a delicate little vase with
its pale background and tumble of violet wisteria. There were vases, containers,
boxes. All of them with gold filigree and delicate, translucent lacquer work.
Logan ignored the card explaining how cloisonné work was unknown in
Japan before the western contacts and naming the artists who'd made the various
works. In the case on the end, along with a couple of round little vases with
lucky storks on the side, there was a Ceylon green box the size of Logan's
palm. There were delicate darker green streaks of inlayed enamel to represent
grass and had a silver and blue dragonfly seemed to have taken a moment to
rest on the top. There was a small but visible crack in one corner. Logan
pressed his hands to the plastic case.

He knew that box. He knew the weigh of it
in his hand. Logan could feel it. His hand closed reflexively as the
memory rushed over him like water - the anger, the smell of water and bamboo,
the fall of moonlight through the paper screens. The servant crouched at his
feet, head to the tatami mat, stammering out his message. The gift, refused.
Throwing it aside with a shout then stalking outside, the padded kimono flapping
about his shins. Rage. Rage and moonlight and a delicate box left broken on
the floor.

"That's mine." Logan growled, coming back
to himself with the taste of that half remembered anger in his mouth. He jerked
free of Warren's supporting arm and stalked a few paces away. He was shaking
and Logan breathed deep, until he was sure he had control of himself. He couldn't
remember why he'd been so angry or what the gift was for. But he remembered
something. One more memory won back from the dark. One more victory
over that cold bitch Rasputin.

He went back to the case, staring at the
little green box, staring hard at it. "Mine."

"Logan -" Warren said softly.

"I know, dammit, Wings." Logan muttered turning
away. It wasn't his now. It belonged to - he glanced at the card - it was
part of a private collection - Frosts. "It ain't mine."

Warren touched his elbow, squeezing gently
as they moved into the next section.

"Warren, what a pleasure."

The voice made Logan's hair stand on end,
he knew it. They both knew it. Emma Frost.

Warren turned thought, with a friendly, relaxed
smile. There was nothing happy in the scent of him though. "Emma. I didn't
know you favored this sort of thing."

Emma Frost shrugged with a lovely, predatory
smile and walked over. The high heels on her ice white pumps clicked on the
floor like knives and - even knowing what she really was - Logan couldn't
take his eyes off the plunge of her formal gown or the way the satin seemed
to cling like a dream to her long, long legs. He shifted, a soft sound crawling
up his throat - part threat, part visceral interest. That damn dress made
her look more naked than nothing would.

"Part of the family collection is here -"
She glanced around, not bothering to hide her disinterest. "- someone
had to make an appearance. And you? Of course, this is just the sort of refined
event that you favor."

Emma glanced over at Logan, looking him up
and down with a slow blink and a small smile. "I see - Mr. Wolverine - is
still with you. Are you still from Canada? Or is it somewhere else today?"

"I'm just the same as the last time we met."
Logan growled, focusing his mind firmly on some very visceral, primitive images.
It wasn't hard - not with Warren's smell filling his nose and the sway of
Emma's ass a few feet ahead.

"Except with more clothes, this time." Emma
said with a cool laugh. "Pity, that."

Emma glanced at Warren, brow lifted, then
sighed. "And when she says jump, we all say how high."

Warren tipped his head in a non-committal
answer. They walked for a while in the dim rooms, Logan shut out the verbal
sparring, concentrating on keeping Emma disinterested in his thoughts. Or,
as she glanced back at him once, flushing faintly, interested in the wrong
thoughts. Warren's mind might be unreadable, but his wasn't and Emma was one
fucking scary teep.

"Always a pleasure, Warren." Emma said as
they came back to the hallway that led to the main rotunda. "At least you
- and your friend - aren't boring. But I have work to do and I've put in my
bit for the family."

"I'm sure we'll meet again." Warren said
with a smile. "I'm looking forward to that and you haven't even left yet."

They watched her walk off.

"That bitch scares the crap out of me." Logan
muttered when he was sure she was gone. Warren glanced at him.

"I'm sorry, Logan." Warren said. "I didn't
expect her to be here - I thought it would be Adrienne."

Logan shook his head, stirring restlessly.
The thoughts he'd tricked Emma with had left him half-hard and impatient.
He stepped to Warren, nosing at his hair, and slid a hand along his waist.
"I wanna suck you off."

Warren shuddered and Logan smelled the spike
of his desire with a grin. "I'm certainly not going to say no."

Logan pulled him closer, so the other man
could feel his cock. Warren's hand dropped down to rub him and Logan groaned.
"We gotta go someplace."

They were alone just now but that could change
any minute. Warren stirred, wrapping a hand around Logan's wrist and tugging
him towards a smaller side hallway. The sign on the door they came to was
universal and Logan snorted as they pushed their way into the brightly lit
men's room.

Warren seemed pretty experienced in this
and Logan wondered just how often Mr. Worthington had sex in public restrooms.
Warren found the wedge the janitorial staff probably used to prop open the
door on top of the towel dispenser and wedged the door shut. Logan already
had his hands under the man's jacket, stroking over the silk shirt and feeling
- with distaste - the nylon and canvas harness Warren used to bind his wings
down.

"Logan -" Warren turned, kissed him hard,
running his hands along the lapels of Logan's jacket. Logan grinned as Warren
stroked his clothes and dropped his hands down to knead the other man's hard
muscled ass. Warren shifted forward to press his erection against Logan's
hip, gasping a little. The feel of warm breath in his ear, then the skilled
touch of Warren's warm tongue made Logan groan and tighten his grip. There'd
be bruises on Warren's pale skin tonight and the thought exited him. His bruises.
His hands.

"Ya said ya needed a distraction -" Logan
traced the shape of Warren's hard cock through his pants, squeezed him gently
to get a gasp and the scrape of Warren's teeth on his jawline as the man bit
him.

"Hu -" Logan's breath left him in
a rush when Warren slid his palm firmly down the length of Logan's cock. Logan's
hips arched, instinctively following the wonderful pressure. He rubbed his
face against the other man's fair hair, breathing in the scent of expensive
cologne and - beneath that - the clean, strange scent of the man himself.
Logan licked Warren's ear, felt his shiver and bit his neck as Warren tipped
his head back with a soft moan.

Warren was moving, grinding hard against
him and Logan grinned at his impatience. He pressed Warren back. "Give me
a little room t'work."

Breathing hard Warren braced himself against
the sinks, watching Logan's hands with wide, hungry eyes. Logan unfastened
the formal belt and unzipped Warren's pants. The ivory silk briefs beneath
were damp and Logan shuddered, his own cock throbbing at the sight - and the
heady smell of pre-cum. He eased Warren's cock free, stroking the long shaft
with trembling fingers. The rose pink head was moist, shiny in the fluorescent
lights and it made Logan's mouth water.

"Beautiful." He whispered and sank to his
knees. Warren's cock bobbed in front of his nose and he felt the anticipatory
shudder that wracked the other man. He glanced up, meeting the blue eyes -
nearly black with lust - and grinned. "Ya gonna be okay?"

Warren was flushed, blond hair tumbled out
of it's careful pattern and spilling across the wide forehead. His tie was
askew and seeing Warren - always so perfect - panting and deshevlished
and desperate for Logan's touch was worth the pain in the ass dinner. Warren's
breathing was ragged and his hands white knuckled on the porcelain.

"God, Logan - "

Logan breathed on Warren's cock, smirking
as it twitched in his hands. "Yeah?"

"Please -" Warren gasped, arching forward
shamelessly.

"Yeah." Logan whispered and took wide head
into his mouth. Warren cried out softly above him and Logan had to brace his
hips in his hands.

God, it was incredible. Sweet velvet in his
mouth, the hot, fast throb of Warren's pulse against his tongue. Incredible,
every time. Logan groaned around the flesh in his mouth, swallowing convulsively.
He was drooling and didn't care. Logan pulled as much as he could into his
mouth, hearing Warren whimper. Rocking forward, Logan felt the rub of Warren's
head against the roof of his mouth, he swallowed again, eyes drifting shut
as he felt the welcome slide of Warren's cock down his throat. He took it
all for a moment, before he had to pull back. Warren's hands closed desperately
in his hair, he thrust shakily.

"I need - god - need this." Warren whispered
harshly. "Logan - "

Logan pulled on Warren's hips, guiding the
rhythm, keeping is shallow enough that he wouldn't choke and let the other
man fuck his mouth. He could taste the heavy salt of pre-cum on his tongue,
he rubbed the velvety head, sucked greedily. Wanted more. God, his cock ached.

Groaning, letting Warren control the pace
for a moment, Logan desperately yanked his pants open to free his cock. Wrapped
a hand around himself and moaned, sucking hard on Warren's cock.

One hand wrapped around his own shaft, Logan
wrapped his free arm around Warren's narrow waist. He was taking it all now,
relaxed and eager, and it was damn good to feel the light slap of Warren's
balls on his wet chin, the deep movement in his mouth. The taste of Warren's
flesh was like - like nothing else, irresistible, wonderful. Warren was making
those sounds - those sounds that set Logan's pulse pounding. Soft,
throaty moans, almost voiceless, startlingly vulnerable. He had the man now,
Warren wasn't thinking of anything but him - his mouth, what Logan was doing
to him. The man was his. Logan's arm tightened, pulling Warren close, he swallowed
greedily around the shaft buried in his throat. Demanding. Taking.

Warren gasped, shuddering sharply, and came.
Logan drank it down, hand pumping hard on his own cock then giving out a muffled
groan as he shot all over the white tiled floor.

After a moment, Warren tugged on his hair
and Logan reluctantly let go and leaned back on his hands, catching his breath.
Warren had his head thrown back and was panting - rapid shallow breaths -
and Logan recalled that the damn harness the man wore wouldn't even let him
take a full breath.

"Christ." Logan muttered, scrambling to his
feet. He reached for the peal buttons on Warren's shirt but Warren grabbed
his hands.

Logan sighed sharply and grabbed some paper
towels and cleaned himself up. They washed up, Warren producing a comb and
carefully smoothing his hair back. Logan wiped up the mess he'd make on the
floor, rude to leave that to the janitors. Warren was rebuttoning his jacket
and smoothing his tie by the time he was done.

"Ah - well." Warren filled a glass with water
and dropped one of the papers in the glass, it dissolved and he gave Logan
that. "Most of the people here tonight have little else to do besides gossip
and the - odor - on your breath is rather distinctive."